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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24099043">Old Rip van Fell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/pseuds/ThetaSigma'>ThetaSigma</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale's barber tells all, M/M, ineffable husbands, outside perspective</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:35:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24099043</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/pseuds/ThetaSigma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Well, gents, I have to say, I’ve got all of ya beat,” Antoine Palmier (christened Anthony Palmer) declares to the gathering of barbers. Despite his French name, he’s got a broad Boston accent -- which he usually tries to Frenchify a bit for customers. “Sure, Bob, you might have shaved mountain man every five years, and okay, Jean-Jacques, you had that masturbating pervert that one time, and sure, Pierre, you had the guy who always brought his parrot, but guys, let me tell you about Rip van Fell."</i>
</p>
<p>***<br/>Aziraphale's barber finally tells his barber friends about his weirdest customer</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>184</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Ixnael’s Recommendations, Ixnael’s SFW corner</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Old Rip van Fell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeconspicuous/gifts">tobeconspicuous</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic is for tobeconspicuous because she texted me one day with "Write me something based on this scene please" and links me to this: <a href="https://dollsome-does-tumblr.tumblr.com/post/616892417753382912">Link!</a><br/>And, well, I DID. <br/>(Also, this is the second fic I wrote for her this week(-ish, I don't fucking know anymore about time with this quarantine/pandemic shit, guys), with another completed and being fine-tuned, and I made a joke about writing her dozens of fics, so I've got min 9 more to go. Aren't you guys lucky?)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Well, gents, I have to say, I’ve got all of ya beat,” Antoine Palmier (christened Anthony Palmer) declares to the gathering of barbers. Despite his French name, he’s got a broad Boston accent -- which he usually tries to Frenchify a bit for customers. “Sure, Bob, you might have shaved mountain man every five years, and okay, Jean-Jacques, you had that masturbating pervert that one time, and sure, Pierre, you had the guy who always brought his parrot, but guys, let me tell you about Rip van Fell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I opened, oh, what, thirty? thirty-five? years ago now, and Mr Fell was one of my first customers. Maybe my first one, I don’t even remember. None of us are young anymore, before you start laughing at me. This guy, dudes, you can’t even imagine. Oh, but let me describe him first. He’s not young, ‘bout as old as us, I’d say, but ‘course he’s looked that old all thirty or thirty-five years I’ve known him. Shorter than even Bob over there --” he pauses while Bob shouts a genial “FUCK YOU”, then keeps going, “-- and has always had thin, fine, white hair. Wears a vest -- sorry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>waistcoat</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- and a tartan bowtie and just generally dresses as if he’s Rip van Winkle and just woke up after a 150-year nap. Talks like it, too, all antiquated and prim and fussy. Old Rip van Fell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He comes every three months. Could set my calendar by him: Second Tuesday in January, April, July, and October. Except, boys, there ain’t ever anything to cut. Don’t think his hair has grown in thirty years. Well, who am I to judge -- who are any of us, eh? Don’t we all know to wash it and comb it and move the scissors around like we’ve done sumthin’? The old dears who wanna have a good chat and </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanna admit they ain’t got hair to cut anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Always wants a shave, too. Likes the close shave a barber gives, you know, Old Rip van Fell, and you know, I like doing it and it’s falling out of favor these days even faster than when I’d started this whole sorry business. So I ain’t ever gonna cry that one of my regs wants one, but gents, sometimes I go to shave him and there’s fuck-all to shave. Like some other fucker already shaved him real close. Fine, I go to put the shit away again, because I’ll pretend all day to cut some old fart’s hair but I ain’t about to pretend to shave him too. And I’ll turn around and all of a sudden, there’s fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>stubble.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Weren’t there ten seconds ago, coulda sworn to it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a drunk, Antoine!” one of the listeners calls out. “Shouldn’t be shaving drunk!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Forty years sober, fuck you! Forty years sober tomorrow, I ain’t touched a drop, but lemme tell ya, he suddenly has stubble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And that’s weird, sure, but man, like pretty much all our customers, he likes to talk. ‘Bout his life, ‘bout his job, ‘bout some odd man he knows. And all of it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> confusing, gonna tell you now. Ask him what he does, and old Rip’ll tell ya he’s a book-seller, antique shit, ya know? Tells ya he likes ‘em misprint Bibles, well, who am I to judge? Ain’t the weirdest shit one of my customers does, and ya know, man told me about some of the funny shit that gets misprinted, and it’s wicked awesome. And he owns his shop, AZ Fell &amp; Co, for years and years, but then he’ll tell me about his boss being on his tail for some shit he ain’t done.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tryinna follow along, course, but I’ll ask, ‘boss?’ and he’ll freeze for a sec then go, ‘Uhhh… well, not at the bookstore, oh dear, I mustn’t misspeak’ but then he’ll go on full steam, and at this point I figure the man is in with some organized crime shit or sumthin’. Shit, man, I’m from fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Boston,</span>
  </em>
  <span> s’not like that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>new.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So I ain’t ever ask again about his boss, just follow along, and apparently he gets some real menial assignments but it ain’t ever got anything to do with the bookstore. Ain’t no front, he just likes ‘em books.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And so ‘kay, I may have been cutting some mob member’s hair some thirty years, but he’s a sad sack too. Ain’t never mention no wife, no girlfriend, no husband, no boyfriend, no kids, not even friends ‘cept one man. He mentions his boss and some asswipe coworkers and then this one dude, Crowley. And sure, you’re all thinking, Antoine, clearly this one dude </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> his partner, but half the time he talks about Crowley like they’re rivals or enemies -- opposite gangs, maybe, what the fuck do I know? -- and the other half he talks about this Crowley like they’re best of friends. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> tell ya, though, Rip van Fell is as queer as a three-dollar bill. I mean, no straight man is </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> camp, and anyway, I’ve heard entire odes dedicated to the way Crowley walks. Lotsa hip-swinging. Hey, man, I don’t judge, do I? Been married to Benny 28 years now. No pot-kettle-black here. Apparently, Crowley is a skinny, lanky bastard with ‘hair like fire’ and ‘hips designed to tempt the pure’ and ‘a smile worth melting for’, so you can tell that old Rip’s learned </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> from those old books of his.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Antoine,” old Bob calls out, “You feel like getting to the point any time soon? You’ve been yakking for ages, monopolising the conversation, and that isn’t like you. You’ve never mentioned this Rip van Fell before, and we’ve been getting together for years. What’s up with him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, well, I guess he’s a bit on my mind. When he came in six months ago, he tells me, ‘Antoine, I’ve decided I simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span> do something to get the attention of… well, a certain </span>
  <em>
    <span>person</span>
  </em>
  <span> I know, shall we say.’ And I know it’s a man someone and also specifically Crowley, but I’m not about to tell him </span>
  <em>
    <span>that,</span>
  </em>
  <span> just try to make it clear he can tell me he’s gay if he wants. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So I tell him, ‘Oh, Monsieur Fell, he or she is so very lucky’, and he relaxes a bit and says, ‘Oh, well, then, I don’t know how to go about trying to let a man know I may be interested in more than idle conversation, if you know what I mean.’ Now, if we’re talking about Crowley, I gotta say I ain’t ever met him, but shit, from all Rip van Fell’s told me, Crowley’s practically been wearing a giant neon sign that says ‘FUCK ME’ for however long they’ve known each other -- old Rip’s never been clear on that one -- so frankly, Fell could do </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> and they’d be fucking til sunup.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But, o’course, can’t just tell him, ‘Oh, fucking fuck, just tell the man you wanna fuck already’, so I gotta try to give </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual</span>
  </em>
  <span> advice and also pretend like I don’t know way too much about Crowley. Somehow these gents never wanna be reminded of all the shit they’ve already told ya. Anyway, I ask him about this man, and he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>lights</span>
  </em>
  <span> up. Not even being figurative here, it was like he </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally</span>
  </em>
  <span> lit up, hurt my fucking eyes. And then he gushed at length about how the man in question was lanky and sexy and actually quite smart even if he liked to pretend not to be intellectual and oh, just such a darling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I mean, what can I say? Dating wasn’t ever my strength. Benny hadta hit me over the head that he wanted to take me out. So I recommend a new cologne, something a bit less subtle, a bit muskier, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> to try to signal to this Crowley that he’s interested. Anyway, from what Rip van Fell’s told me, Crowley’s a pretty forward and blunt guy, so I figure as long as Fell signals even slightly that he’s interested, Crowley’ll take it from there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fell was a bit doubtful, though. ‘You sure that’s going to be enough? I do want to move the relationship forward.’ And so I basically tell him the thing I said before, said, ‘Sure, sounds like your man is pretty forward, you just have to let him know you aren’t opposed and then let him take the driver’s seat.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And Fell nods and says, ‘He always did go too fast’ and takes the cologne.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good, so they’re together now and we can talk about something else?” Pierre asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, that’s the thing. Next time he comes in, he’s down as fuck. Tells me ‘it didn’t work’, all heartbroken and shit. And he launches into the whole story, how he had been wearing the cologne daily and how the man -- Crowley, though he never names him, still -- didn’t even react. And then one day, Crowley took this huge sniff and said, ‘something’s changed’. And Fell tells me, ‘oh, I just lit up. Finally, he notices! So I tell him, very suavely, as one does, “Oh, it’s a new cologne. My barber suggested it.” I can tell you, Antoine, I was in a state of high anticipation. Finally he noticed, finally he’d know he can take the lead... ’ Then Fell sighed deeply and said, ‘Except then he says, “Not you! I know what you smell like!” And well, I’m sorry to say, that was the end of that.’ And then the old dear says, ‘It’s not your fault, of course. It’s a lovely cologne; I love it anyway. Thank you for all your help.’ And he tips me three times what he usually does and slinks off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t get it out of my head. I don’t know why, s’not like I don’t hear sad shit from customers all day long. But, fuck, I don’t know, just thinking if Benny hadn’t taken the lead and we never went out and I never got married to him. Poor Mr Fell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They all fall silent. No one feels much like their usual banter after </span>
  <em>
    <span>that.</span>
  </em>
  <span> All of them are thinking about poor old Mr Fell, who probably (based on what Antoine had said) didn’t have many years left, and Crowley, who didn’t react, and it just is so </span>
  <em>
    <span>sad.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean-Jacques drains his drink. “Those poor fuckers,” he says sadly. “I see why it’s weighing on you, Antoine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Antoine heaves a great sigh. “Feel like I gave shit advice. Shit, man, it’s shit, what can I say? Man’s been pining as long as I’ve known him. And he’s due in next week, and I feel like shit about this. Don’t know how to face him.” He stands up. “Sorry, guys, I’m not in the mood for any more company. Gonna go home.” He throws some money on the table and leaves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rest of the guys stay, chatting with each other, but it’s a lot more subdued than they’ve ever been in the past. Which turns out to be a good thing, because otherwise they wouldn’t have noticed the pair that stumbled in, laughing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pierre nudges Bob. “Maybe I’m still thinking about Antoine’s story, but shit, that man looks like Rip van Fell. At least, how he described him to us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The others look. “Shit, yeah,” Bob says, peering through the haze and low-lighting of the pub. “Old, fussy, looks like he stepped out of the 1800s. And look, the guy he’s with has hair that actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> look like fire.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean-Jacques takes his phone out to send a picture to Antoine, ask if this is Rip van Fell, which is the only reason he manages to catch the two men kissing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fact-finding mission time,” Bob hisses. “I’m gonna walk past ‘em, try to hear something.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sidles closer, in time to hear the white-haired man say, “Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crowley,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I have to say, when you suggested a pub, I did not have high hopes. But you were right, their beer selection is phenomenal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What can I say, angel?” the redhead says with a grin. “I know my pubs. Spent plenty of time in them working for Below.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, well, Above frowned on that sort of thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eh, fuck ‘em both, eh, angel? On our own side!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bob sidles back to the group. “Okay, so that’s gotta be Rip van Fell, and that </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> Crowley and shit, I think they </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> involved in some shady shit.” He relays the conversation he overheard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, we just won’t mention that to Antoine,” Jean-Jacques says, then sends the photo he’d managed to get. “Looks like that cologne worked out after all, though.”</span>
</p>
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